One Hundred Million Years
by sunloathe
Summary: Ten Sherlock/John moments written to the ten-song shuffle challenge.


**This is me having a bit of fun, flexing the writing muscles if you will. I'm doing that old ten-song shuffle challenge—you're supposed to write the story in the time that the song plays, but for some of them I could not resist writing a little more after the song had ended because I wasn't finished, haha. Apart from that, I followed the rules. Expect plenty of mush, as it's a Sherlock/John challenge set to music, after all. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>PRIVATE EYES – HALL &amp; OATES<strong>

John doesn't take sugar in his coffee. He knows this. And nearly everything John knows, Sherlock probably already does too. Doesn't need to be told anything. (Except people's first names. Sometimes he needs to be reminded of those over and over.)

He almost wants to slap himself for not realising it straightaway.

On the afternoon they've arrived home from Dartmoor, John is writing what will be his 'Hounds' blog when he remembers the incident with the sugar. Taking a break, he makes use of a sticky-note reminder application that floats upon his desktop. _Never let Sherlock make your drink!_, he writes.

Let him see and observe _that_.

* * *

><p><strong>POISON CUP – M. WARD<br>**

Ah. Perhaps love wasn't so dangerous after all.

Of course, he can name dozens of reasons to account for the dangers of loving one John Watson—all of which, he concludes, are complete and utter _nonsense_ and need to disappear from his life as quickly as they had occurred to him. So did that matter, really? Sherlock supposes he's selfish that way, in wanting everything from John and giving everything of his in return, skull on the mantle and all. He can only hope the doctor does not refuse him.

* * *

><p><strong>TEL QUE TU ES – CHARLOTTE GAINSBOURG<strong>

Sherlock _truly does not care_ sometimes, and while that's what is so infuriating about him _most of the time_, John—in a rather twisted, ironic way—comes to appreciate this facet of his flatmate's personality. He is rather free, rather bold, rather thrilling. John finds peace in the thrill.

* * *

><p><strong>SORROW – THE NATIONAL<strong>

A peaceful (read: _caseless_) day in Baker Street sometimes goes like this:

"John, who is that?"

"Hmm? The National. They're _sort of_ _brilliant_. Should I turn it off?"

"No, it's just . . . rather melancholy. _Don't leave my hyper heart alone on the water. Cover me in rag and bone and sympathy_."

"The song _is_ called 'Sorrow', Sherlock."

"Start it over for me."

"Right . . . See—_Sorrow found me when_ . . ."

". . . w_hen I was young. Sorrow waited, sorrow won._"

"Hang on, _how_ have you got it memorised already?"

"Well, it's quite good."

* * *

><p><strong>TAXI CAB – VAMPIRE WEEKEND<strong>

The cab will pull into motion at Sherlock's instruction. John will begin to feel his heartbeat either steadying or quickening—it depends on the destination—as he settles into his seat.

London will gleam and waver around them like the erratic flickering of a candle-flame. If Sherlock brings his laptop along, he'll likely be tapping away at it already; every now and then his hands may lift themselves from the keyboard and hover, suspended in air, as though caught in a single thought, before continuing. He might say something, and John's response will satisfy him.

But today they deviate a little from routine. The detective suddenly leans back into his seat and looks at him strangely, mouth slightly open—as though caught upon a single thought—before closing. of course, John can't formulate a response to that. He would have to describe the look as _fond, but wishing it were not so_.

John doesn't bother asking for their destination tonight. Sherlock decides on the destination most of the time, and most of the time, John places a whole, simple trust upon him, and decides on his actions from there.

* * *

><p><strong>BLUE – CAT POWER<strong>

Sherlock likes John's eyes. John eyes are blue, blue in the way that one must look hard in order to notice how _blue_ they are, and when they do it's a pleasant surprise; and Sherlock realises that they're a startling contrast to his own eyes. He's been told that his eyes are like ice, but with John they're more like clear-cut gems; the type akin to the jewels his mother wore during dinner parties among close friends. John eyes are blue, and though Sherlock has never thought himself the poetic type, sometimes he fancies that there is a storm churning behind them, the type to make the Aegean Sea toss its waves like countless black hungry tongues; and perhaps there—there, when the doctor experiences courage in the face of death—lies what makes them so blue.

* * *

><p><strong>I WANT TO HOLD YOUR HAND – THE BEATLES<strong>

They're returning home after a case, stomachs full of Chinese food and moods pleasant and affable and compliant, giggling at each other's cracks about the criminal and the latest round of Yard gossip, and it's all terribly easy and wonderful and Sherlock can't help but feel very warm towards his new companion.

"John?"

John turns a pleasant expression to him and Sherlock burns. "Yeah?"

"Could I—I want—" damnitallit'sunlikehimtostumbleonhiswords "—I want to hold your hand."

Their cab driver mutters something like _Oh come on mate that can't be all you want._

John chuckles. "And that's the only thing you want tonight, then?" he asks, threading their fingers together.

It takes him a moment to register the nature of the question. In another life he might have said 'no', but it it actually rather nice to simply hold John Watson's hand like this.

"For now."

* * *

><p><strong>THE BEAST AND DRAGON, ADORED – SPOON<strong>

Sometimes Sherlock will lose count of the nights where he can't fall asleep, and the mornings where he won't take a bite to eat of anything.

A chill follows him around—one that can creep up on him at any time, if he is not careful; one with a lizard-like hunger to its eyes.

He can't help but admire the beast's cunning. Nothing excites him more than _intelligence_, though likewise, nothing excuses evil.

_People have died_, John will sometimes say, almost as though to remind the two of them. And Sherlock mutters, _Of course_. He knows, but he will not let it haunt him further. Instead, he takes the cup of coffee John places in his hand, and allows the warmth to cover him before plowing on.

* * *

><p><strong>WAITIN' FOR A SUPERMAN – THE FLAMING LIPS<br>**

Sometimes a certain detective needs to be shown that he can't do everything—he can't be expected to solve every crime, or be offered every crime, or tackle the history's most dangerous criminal mind—on his own.

And often when John surprises him with a bit of quick thinking and a resolve steelier than any he has ever known, he reminds himself that he no longer needs to.

* * *

><p><strong>ONE HUNDRED MILLION YEARS – M. WARD<strong>

They've faced death together; they've run through deep dark woods and the streets of London together; but almost five years to the day, they find themselves in Baker Street, once again perusing volumes and volumes of texts for a case. John almost laughs at the feeling of déjà vu.

The hour turns late. His vision begins to blur from fatigue, and his body begins begging sleep. He considers nodding off for a moment before a cup of coffee is wordlessly pushed into his hands, followed by a pat on the shoulder. John twists back to look at his companion, who has something of a hint of a smile on his face; he can't really tell for his back is turned. He takes a sip. Cream, no sugar.

Once more John Watson becomes sure that, even if this were another life, he'd do anything for Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

><p><strong>. . . Some of these were really hard to write for. -cough Poison Cup, I Want to Hold Your Hand cough-. Also, please just ignore my drabble for The National's Sorrow. I laughed out loud as it came up, and then became afraid, which explains that mess up there.<strong>

**I have a Reichenbach fic coming up, but ultimately I decided not to post it until after I'd seen it—it airs in a few minutes, after all! And even though I live in Canada I'll still be looking out for a stream. ;u;  
><strong>


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